


Jaime Lannister Investigations - Episode 8 of 13

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: Jaime Lannister Investigations [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Series Summary:The great detective, Jaime Lannister? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. It was working like a charm—until the day he walked in, with his green eyes and mysterious past.Episode 8:A face from Jaime's past throws a wrench into Jaime and Brienne's present...and possibly their future.





	1. Teaser

Awesome banner by the equally awesome justme. :)

*/*/*/*/*

_ Previously on Jaime Lannister Investigations: _

_Then his hand leaves her back and he cups her face, his fingers tangling in her hair, and she startles a little at the first brush of his lips against hers._

_The kiss is not at all what Brienne expected:  gentle, coaxing, and almost unbearably sweet.  None of her few awkwardly uncomfortable experiences felt anything like this._

_The kiss slowly ends and Jaime leans back, searching her face, his expression very serious.  Then a gentle smile curves his handsome mouth._

_“See?” he says softly.  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”_

_She blinks and wordlessly gives a tiny shake of her head._

_His smile widens before he leans in and kisses her again._

*/*/*/*/*

Their second kiss leads to a third and then a fourth, each one deeper and more thorough than those before.  The tiny part of Brienne’s mind that’s still thinking and not just feeling is beginning to wonder if she should suggest moving this to the couch or maybe even the bedroom, because the table has the flowers on it plus it’s old and not particularly sturdy—

She yelps and jerks away, breaking the kiss.

Jaime blinks dazed albeit confused green eyes and she blushes, although she’s not sure she could possibly be any more flushed than she is already from the kisses they’ve shared.

His arms loosen and she panics, tightening her grip around him as she stammers, “It’s nothing!  Your hand is cold, that’s all.”  He stares blankly and she says, “Your _gold_ hand.  Against my back.”

He removes his right arm from around her waist and blinks at his hand as if he’s never noticed it before.

She frowns as she watches him.  “It’s fine,” she says.

He startles a little then says, “Of course.”  He gives her a distracted smile even as he once again leans closer.  “I’m sorry it startled you.”

“It’s fine,” she says again, but her frown deepens.

He takes in her expression then half-smiles as he presses another kiss against her lips then steps away.

“Wait,” she says, protesting, then bites her lip and lets him go, her stomach sinking into the soles of her feet.

Jaime’s smile is slow and wicked.  “Oh, trust me:  we’re going to pick up where we left off,” he says, “but besides the fact that this is our first date, I’m not...well... _prepared_.”

“Prepared?”

Jaime chuckles and gives her a quick kiss.  “Condoms, Brienne.  I have no condoms in my wallet.”  He raises an eyebrow.  “Unless _you_...?”

She was wrong, Brienne thinks as she quickly shakes her head; she actually _can_ turn more red.

Jaime wraps her in a hug and kisses her, then says, “Come on; you better show me the door before I try to convince you to throw caution to the wind.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne walks into the office the next morning with her stomach roiling in a mixture of anticipation and dread.  The night before already feels like a dream, and she can’t help but worry that Jaime is going to tell her it was all a very bad joke at her expense.

Jaime’s in his usual armchair in the reception area, reading the daily paper when she walks in.  He glances up at her and his face lights up, causing her to blush and mumble a greeting while desperately avoiding Bronna’s far-too-interested gaze.

“Good morning,” Jaime practically yodels as he scrambles to his feet then is hot on her heels as she all but bolts for her office.

He closes the door then leans against it, a teasing grin on his face.

“I think we need to try that greeting again,” he purrs and prowls towards her.

She backs away until she bumps against her desk.

“I—I—I think we need to keep work separate from our...our...our...”

“Personal relationship?”

“Yes.”

“I agree,” he says as he stops in front of her, so close she can feel his chest lightly brush against hers, “and I think we need to strictly abide by that policy.  Starting tomorrow.”

“…okay,” she breathes and is rewarded with his smile before he leans in and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

They get a case that day that puts their personal relationship on the back burner for the next week, although Jaime still phones each night before he goes to bed, even if they’ve been working together a half-hour before.

Jaime also discovers an added benefit to the grueling demands of the case:  he has a valid reason to be unable to meet with Cersei, who’s been doggedly trying to convince him to do so.

The disadvantage, of course, is that he hasn’t been able to follow up on Cersei’s assertion about Joffrey being their son.

He grimaces at the thought as he tiredly drags himself into his apartment on the night he and Brienne finally close their case.  He half-hopes the claim is just another one of Cersei’s lies.

Jaime tiredly gets ready for bed, still worrying over Joffrey and Cersei and Brienne.  At the very least, he needs to tell Brienne about the possibility, and what it might mean for them going forward.

His life is complicated, indeed.

Jaime unfastens his gold hand, places it on the dresser, and carefully flexes his fingers.

Not to mention all the _other_ things he needs to tell her.

*/*/*/*/*

Somehow, though, Jaime never seems to find the right time to tell Brienne…well, _any_ of his secrets over the next week.

He invites her for dinner the day after their latest case is solved with the best of intentions, but it’s the first time they’ve had time for themselves since Sansa Stark’s non-wedding, and by the time he’s finished plying Brienne with food and wine and kisses, it’s time for her to go home.

She rather shyly invites him to a football game the next evening, and he’s so charmed, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her they really need to talk instead.

He invites her to an art gallery opening the next night, and he intends to talk to her when they go back to her place for a nightcap.  Once there, however, she gently teases him about which art objects he would most like to steal, which makes him laugh and pepper her with kisses rather than with his secrets.

And last night, Brienne invited him to see the latest blockbuster in the theatres, and she must have greatly enjoyed him enjoying the movie because she practically pounced on him the moment they returned to her place for a drink…or mayhaps it was because of the overly-handsome star, who had been shirtless for three-quarters of the movie.

Not that it mattered:  he certainly enjoyed reaping the benefits. 

It had taken all his willpower to resist taking her to bed, but resist he did.  He’s more than willing to take their relationship to the next level, but he has some vague fantasy in his mind about their first time that includes silk sheets and rose petals and romantic lighting...and a bit more truth between them than he’s yet given her.

*/*/*/*/*

“All right,” Bronna says, putting down her beer glass and leaning across the small table, “spill it, Brienne.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brienne says as primly as she can while she feels the seven-times-damned red heat creeping into her cheeks.

“Auroch-shit.  You know exactly what I’m talking about...either that, or you’re about to burst a blood vessel.”

Brienne takes a hasty gulp of her own beer then narrows her eyes in sudden suspicion.  “Wait a minute—is this just a ploy to make me break our agreement about Thursday nights?  ‘No men, no work’, remember?”

Bronna snorts.  “As much as I would love to have you buy the next round, I’m willing to forego collecting in exchange for some juicy gossip.  Come on, Brienne!  We missed last week because of work, and you’ve been busy every night since!  Throw me a bone, here!  Or is he throwing you one?”

“ _Bronna!_ ”

There must be something in her face because Bronna’s eyes widen.  “Oh, shit,” she whispers, “this isn’t just a fling, is it?”  She groans and covers her eyes.  “How could I have forgotten who you are?  Of course, it’s not just a fling.”

Brienne scowls down at her beer.

Bronna takes a deep sigh and says, “All right.  I won’t press you for the most detailed of details, just tell me:  are you fucking?  And is he any good?”

“We’re not—not—”  Brienne gives up and gulps her beer.

Bronna’s jaw slowly drops and she leans back in her chair.  “You’re _not_?”

“Not—not yet.  We’ve just been, you know...kissing and…and… _stuff_.”

Bronna bites down—hard—on her lip and Brienne can see she’s desperately trying not to laugh.

Now it’s Brienne’s turn to groan and cover her face. 

“This is all so fucking ludicrous,” she moans and then they’re both laughing until tears stream down their cheeks.

Once they’ve calmed—and ordered more beer—Bronna gives her a fond smile and says, “I keep forgetting that you’re much younger than your years when it comes to this... _stuff_.”  She snickers then says, “Are you prepared for when all this stuff turns into all that _other_ stuff?”

Now it’s Brienne’s turn to snicker.  “You’re not usually so delicate with your wording,” she says drily.

Bronna shrugs.  “Oh, don’t expect it to last forever!  But for tonight, I think my usual bluntness would do more harm than good.”

Brienne sighs and nods.  “It’s all too... _new_.  Or something.”  She sips her beer then says, “Besides, he’s been a perfect gentleman.”  She leans closer and says, “He’s even brought me flowers.  _Again!_ He held my chair for me last night, when we went to that new Volantis restaurant before the movie.”  She suddenly scowls.  “I mean, he’s—he’s being almost, you know, _romantic_ , and it’s great but I don’t know if I trust it.”

Bronna sighs.  “I know your history; of course you don’t trust it.  I mean, don’t get me wrong:  we both know that level of courtesy isn’t going to last forever, so enjoy it while you can.”  She gives Brienne a thoughtful look and says, “I think you need to stop by a drug store tonight on your way home, though.”

Brienne frowns.

“Double up on the birth control, Brienne,” Bronna says with a teasing grin.  “You’ve gone a really long time without sex...and better safe than sorry.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime has to struggle not to laugh at Tyrion’s appalled disgust, even though their conversation is anything but amusing.

Tyrion says, “I can’t believe that out of the billions of people in the world, your long-lost son turns out to be _Joffrey Baratheon_!”

Jaime shrugs.  “Well, that’s according to Cersei, anyway.”

“I’m assuming you’ll be wanting a sample or two for DNA testing, then?”

Jaime grimaces and nods.  “I need to know,” he says.

They exchange grimaces and sip their drinks in companionable silence.

“So,” Tyrion finally says, “Brienne.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “What about her?”

Tyrion laughs.  “You’ve been seen out and about.  I gather things have... _progressed_?”

Jaime shrugs.  “In a more or less satisfactory direction, yes.”

“What does she know?”

Jaime grimaces again.  “Not enough.”

Now it’s Tyrion’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  “Not that I blame you for being cautious,” he says, “but don’t you think now would be the perfect time to have a heart-to-heart with her?”

Jaime drops his gaze and stares pensively at the drink in his hand. 

“Mayhaps,” he says, his voice neutral.

Tyrion leans forward.  “Tell her what she needs to know _now_ ,” he says, his mismatched eyes intent and serious.  “Do it before someone else does it for you.”

Jaime’s smile is cutting.  “Are you threatening me, Tyrion?”

Tyrion rolls his eyes and leans back again.  “Are you seriously thinking I would betray you?”

Jaime deflates.  “No, of course not.”

Tyrion gives him an approving nod. “But I’m not the only one you need to be concerned about.”

“No,” Jaime says, and gulps at his drink.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime walks into his apartment, Tyrion’s words still weighing heavy on his mind.  As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, his brother is right.

He flicks on the lights and drops his keys on the table beside the door then strolls into the living room.

He stops short at the sight of the man sitting in his armchair.

They stare at each other in silence, then the man says, “Hello, son.”

*/*/*/*/*


	2. One

“Tywin.”  Jaime keeps his expression neutral as he strolls further into his living room.  “I see I truly need to do more to keep my home secure from the likes of you.”

Tywin raises an eyebrow.  “You would keep your own family out of your home?”

“I certainly have the urge to try.  Drink?”

Tywin inclines his bald head in a regal nod and Jaime walks behind the small bar in the corner of his living room.

Tywin stands and makes a show of looking round him before he, too, strolls to the bar.  “I suppose you’re doing well enough,” he says, “although I would have expected the Great Detective Jaime Lannister to live in more... _ostentatious_ surroundings, considering his reputation.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he finishes pouring two glasses of Northern whiskey then setting one in front of Tywin.  “You’re judging my taste in apartments?”

“Judging your commitment to the role,” Tywin purrs.  He takes a sip of whiskey.  “Although I can’t complain about your continuing ability to stock good whiskey in your liquor cabinet.”

“Why are you here?”

“Is a father not allowed to visit his son?”

“You’re not my father.”

“I took you off the streets, ‘Jaime’, and this is how you repay me?  Oh, I’ll admit, I was rather impressed by you slipping into the identity of the Great Detective Jaime Lannister—very clever.  Not so public that your past is likely to derail you, yet just public enough to ensure I would need to move very cautiously to dislodge you...and you may no longer be useful to me even if I did.”

Jaime takes a sip of his whiskey.  “So why are you here?”

Tywin’s thin lips twitch into what might almost be a smile and Jaime suppresses a shudder.

“Can a father not miss his son?”

“You’re not my father,” Jaime says, “and you’ve never missed anyone...except mayhaps Joanna.”

Tywin’s eyelids twitch slightly at the name.  “There are dragon eggs—”

Jaime straightens, shaking his head.  “No.  I’m retired, remember?  Call Tyrion; he’s always loved dragons, even if the ‘eggs’ are naught but pretty baubles made by jewellers.”

“This isn’t a job for Tyrion; it’s a job for you.  And do you honestly think people like us can simply _retire_?”

Jaime’s eyes are cold.  “I’m not like you, Tywin.”

“You’re my son in all but blood.  You are my heir.”

“Heir to what?  A life forever in the shadows?”

“Oh?  And taking on the identity of another man is standing in the sun?  Besides, you enjoyed that life.”  Tywin nods at Jaime’s gold hand.  “Until that happened.  A bit ostentatious, don’t you think?”

Jaime shrugs.  “Makes up for my more subdued living quarters.”

“How is your hand, by the way?”

Jaime’s smile is knife-sharp.  “Getting stronger every day, but I will never be as skilled as I once was.”

Tywin lifts his glass.  “Pity.  You were truly gifted.  It was your own damn fault for getting caught in a place you shouldn’t have been found.”

“You should have gotten me out sooner.”

Tywin sips his whiskey then carefully sets his glass back on the bar.  “It takes time to adjust when plans go awry.”

“Of course,” Jaime says, his voice as dry as dust.  “And you wonder why I want to retire?  Isn’t thirty years of my life and the full use of my hand enough for you?  Not to mention my son?”

“I fed you and clothed you and educated you; I even let you keep that little imp that followed you home one day.  You owe me.”

“Not my entire life.  Not any chance at happiness.”

“Cersei failed to live up to expectations and was becoming increasingly dangerous.  She’s done well enough for herself.  She was certainly quick enough to capture that great booming fool when the opportunity presented itself.”

“It’s not just Cersei,” Jaime growls.  “Our son...do you know where he is?”

Tywin raises an eyebrow.  “Games of wits have never been your strong suit.  You know it’s Joffrey.”

Now it’s Jaime’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  “You’ve been talking with Cersei.”

“She’s very disappointed with you.  She feels you’ve failed her in her hour of greatest need.  She calls me every now and then for…support, I suppose you could say, and assistance.  I do what I can for her when I can.  After all, I am her father.”

“For the gods’ sakes!  _You are not our father!_ ”

“Lucky, then, for the both of you, given the children you’ve had together.”

Jaime grits his teeth and takes another sip of whiskey to calm himself.  “What do you _want_ , Tywin?”

“For you to do what you’ve been trained to do.”

“I have a new life.  What I’ve been trained to do has very little place here.”

“A new life,” Tywin says, his amused voice silky smooth, “yes, I know.  I see you in the news.  You seem to be building on an already sterling—or should I say golden?—reputation.  Although your choice in female companionship has certainly been...hmm... _interesting_ , to say the least.”

Jaime straightens and glares, and Tywin tuts.

“I’m not judging, son, but you have to admit:  she’s no Cersei.”

“Thank the gods,” Jaime growls.  “What’s your point?”

Tywin shrugs.  “No point; simply reminding you of some truths you seem to have forgotten.  You’ve been trying to build a new life, and I respect that.”  His eyes are sharp; his smile cold.  “But you should never lose sight of the fact that your new life will never be any more substantive than any other mummer’s tale you’ve woven through the years.  One wrong word, one mistake, and it will all disappear like smoke in the wind:  the reputation, the work…the people.  Over-confidence in your cover story is always dangerous, as you well know, and true safety must be earned…‘Jaime’.”

*/*/*/*/*


	3. Two

***/*/*/*/***

Brienne’s smile turns to a frown as she walks into the office to find Jaime’s usual armchair is empty.

She looks at Bronna, who gives her a shrug.  “I thought you’d know.”

Brienne shakes her head as she pulls out her phone.

“No messages,” she mutters then shrugs.  “Well, mayhaps he’s just running late.”

*/*/*/*/*

She doesn’t really begin to wonder until lunch time.

*/*/*/*/*

Wonder doesn’t turn into worry until she calls, and only gets his voice mail, and when she texts, she receives no immediate response.

Brienne scowls down at her phone, drumming her fingers on her desk.

He’s fine, she assures herself as Bronna lets her know their 1:30 appointment has arrived.  He’s _fine_ , and he’ll call her later.

*/*/*/*/*

“Jaime?”

“...so all I needed to do to get you to recognize my number was kiss you?  I should have done that months ago...for many reasons.”

“Don’t be an ass.  Where are you?  What’s going on?”

“Something’s come up and I’ll be away for...a week, mayhaps two.  No more than three, I swear.”

“What’s come up?”

“...well, that’s a loaded question, now that I’m hearing your voice.  What are you wearing?”

“ _Jaime!_ ”

“You’re so easy to tease—”

“But not so easy to distract.  _Where are you and what’s going on_?”

“...I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again.”

“And that will be...?”

“Like I said, a week…or three, at most.  Mayhaps four…but no more than that.  I’ll try to call or text every night, but there may be times when that’s not going to be possible either.”

“...oh, shit, Jaime—what are you up to?”

“...don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t worry.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny, Brienne.”

“...gods, now I’m _really_ worried!”

“Please don’t worry.  Everything’s all right, and I’ll be back before you know it, and I’ll explain _everything_ when I get back.”

“Jaime—”

“I need you to...no.  I don’t deserve it, but I need to ask you to trust me.”

“Trust you?”

“Trust that I won’t do anything to embarrass you or the agency, and trust me to...”

“...to?”

“I’ll come home, Brienne.  If nothing else, at least trust me on that.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Well, whatever’s going on can’t be dangerous, Brienne, otherwise he would have told me before he left.”

“If you’re lying to me, Tyrion, I swear...”

“I swear to you, he hasn’t told me where he is or what he’s doing, but I am, as always, ready to fly to his aid at a moment’s notice.”

“...Tyrion…”

“You need to...well, ‘trust’ is not quite the correct word.  You need to be patient and have faith.  He’ll be back, Brienne.  He _always_ comes back.”

*/*/*/*/*

Bronna and Sam stare at her with wide eyes and worried expressions.

“And neither of them would tell you anything more than that?” Bronna demands.

“No,” Brienne growls, restlessly drumming her fingers on the boardroom table.

“What do you want us to do?” Sam says.

Brienne looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Right,” he says, and turns to Bronna.  “I’ll start searching the airlines; you want to tackle the trains?”

Bronna’s already pushing her chair away from the table.  “Then the rental car places, toll booths, and the bus stations?”

Sam nods and they both hurry to leave the boardroom.

“Remember his favourite movies!” Brienne calls after them.

“That doesn’t really help narrow things down,” Bronna calls over her shoulder before she and Sam disappear into the back offices.

Brienne leans back in her chair and scowls sightlessly at the muted pictures of WNN playing on the television across from her.  She barely registers the banner headline announcing another body found in the Dreadfort as she returns to drumming her fingers on the table.

 _We’re going to find him_ , she thinks, _and I’m going to stop him from stealing whatever the fuck it is he’s been hired to steal—and then I’m going to make him pay._

*/*/*/*/*

“Morning, Davyd,” Jorah Mormont says, his bald head and hairy torso already slick with sweat even though the sun has barely peeked above the horizon.

Jaime returns Jorah’s greeting and thinks he’s in no position to judge; his own khaki shirt is sticking to his back just from the short walk from the parking location to the base camp in this humidity.  He’s not looking forward to working at the dig site today; he can already feel the grime clinging to his skin at the very thought.

Jaime idly scratches his bearded chin as he walks into the main tent and heads towards the dig director, Aurane Waters.

“Morning,” Jaime says.

“Morning, Davyd,” Aurane says, a smile on his handsome face as he hands him a map.  “I’m putting your Team Balerion in the northeast quadrant today.”

Jaime takes the map and nods.  He leaves Aurane to grab some water then find his teammates: Amerie, Hoster and his sister, Bethany, and Lew.  They walk, chatting cheerfully, to their designated dig site that was staked out some time after they left the previous night but before two a.m., when Jaime crept back to continue his scouting.

His teammates are almost painfully young, skilled, and thrilled to be on this dig at the site where the only supposed dragon eggs have ever been discovered.  They’ve also unofficially adopted him, especially given the brace he wears on his right hand.  As far as he knows, no one has recognized him.  To everyone working at this dig site, he’s simply a volunteer with a burning love for the science who wanted something different to do during his annual vacation.

Tywin is still a master at laying the groundwork, Jaime thinks, and doesn’t know how he feels about it all.

*/*/*/*/*

That evening, the entire dig site team—more than twenty, in all—descend upon Dr. Jorah Mormont’s ocean-fortified riverboat, the _Dothraki Khaleesi_.  Jaime’s eyes light up at the name, and immediately asks Jorah if he named it after the movie.

“Movie?”  Jorah’s confusion is obvious.  “I’ve never heard of any movie.  No, I, of course, named her after the great Khaleesi of Dothraki legend, a beautiful princess in exile who birthed three dragons and led the Dothraki across the Narrow Sea.”

Jaime looks interested and gives Jorah a polite smile, and silently curses himself for getting the man started.

Again.

Jorah Mormont is notorious for his unorthodox methods and even more for his absolute conviction that there is nothing the people of Planetos could have ever accomplished in the past without magic or the Khaleesi of legend doing it all for them.  Jaime has been regaled with Mormont’s theories more than once in the days since he arrived on Driftmark.  Given the man’s wild-eyed fanaticism over magic and all that goes with it, Jaime suspects Jorah has never watched a movie without loudly explaining how magic made the technology possible rather than simply enjoying the different kind of magic that movies actually create.

Still, when Mormont isn’t droning on about magic or the unknown Khaleesi who had been the saviour of humankind, the man is actually entertaining and Jaime has to admire his passion and devotion even if he doesn’t understand it.

Not that Jorah is being very entertaining right now.  Jaime checks in on the monologue to find Jorah’s only just hit his stride.  He hides a groan with a gulp of beer and allows his thoughts to drift to Brienne.

*/*/*/*/*

Once he frees himself from Jorah, Jaime works the crowd, moving from group to group, smiling and chatting, listening and hiding his thoughts behind his beer bottle.  He finally gravitates to his teammates, and tries to ignore Amerie’s flirtations while everyone drifts into a large semi-circle, listening Aurane and Jorah loudly and drunkenly lecturing everyone within earshot about the legend of the Wall, a seven hundred foot high magical barrier that kept equally magical monsters at bay.

Jaime finishes his beer and turns to his companions.

“My cue to leave,” he says.  “It’s long past my bedtime.  Good-night, all; I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll walk back with you, Davyd,” Amerie says quickly.

“I don’t want to cut your evening short,” Jaime says, his smile charming.  “You young people work hard every day; you deserve to enjoy yourselves in the evening.”

“I’m tired,” Amerie says and tucks her hand into the crook of his arm with a coy smile and a determined grip.

Jaime forces himself to continue smiling and thanks all his lucky stars that Brienne isn’t here to see this.

*/*/*/*/*

Amerie is giggly and flirty, and Jaime is bemused and oddly flattered, and completely uninterested.  She’s young, pretty, and definitely bright enough to make it on to this dig, but the more she flirts, the more Jaime finds himself missing Brienne.

He listens to his companion with half-an-ear as he walks her to her hotel room, where he manages to disentangle himself from her clutches without insulting her, although she pouts as she closes the door.

Jaime hides a sigh of relief and continues on to his room, planning the rest of his night:  a nap, then out to the dig site to see what, if anything, has changed, then back to the hotel for a few more hours of sleep before returning to the dig site with the others.

So far, everything seems legitimate—and he appreciates the irony of that statement, considering he’s here on Tywin’s orders.

He takes off his hand brace as he readies himself for bed, and comforts himself with the thought that at least the dig is only for another two and a half weeks.  One way or the other, he’ll be free to return to King’s Landing after that, and once he gets back, he’s going to tell Brienne everything he needs to in order to be free of Tywin once and for all.

*/*/*/*/*

It takes Sam, Bronna, and Brienne almost a week before they pick up Jaime’s trail.  Not that Brienne blames anyone; it’s difficult to track someone down when you don’t know what name they’re using, where they headed, and what mode of transportation they used to get there.

Sam determined that Jaime’s phone was still in King’s Landing almost immediately, and while Jaime’s been sending Brienne the occasional text, it’s been impossible for Sam to trace where the texts are coming from.

“He’s good,” Sam says, admiring.

“Well, we already knew that,” Brienne mutters darkly.  “He’s never been arrested, after all.”

“True,” Bronna nods.  “But we’ve found him, I think.”

She hands Brienne a piece of paper.

The paper is a flight itinerary.

“Davyd Huxley,” Brienne mutters, frowning.

Bronna nods.  “From the movie, _Bringing Up Baby_.  As you can see, a man named Davyd Huxley was on a flight to Dragonstone the same day our Jaime Lannister went on the lam.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “On the lam?”

Bronna shrugs.  “I think he’ll appreciate us thinking about it like that,” she says and Brienne can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, he probably will,” she says.  “Still:  there must be real Davyd Huxleys in the world.  Even ones living in King’s Landing and taking a plane the same day our Jaime goes on the lam.”

Sam nods.  “There are.”  He hands her another piece of paper, this time a printout of a picture taken by a security camera. “That’s from the airport, the day the flight left for Dragonstone.”

Brienne looks at it and nods.  There’s no mistaking those cheekbones, even from such a horrible angle.

“I need to go to Dragonstone, then,” she says.

Sam shakes his head.  “To Driftmark,” he says, and hands her a piece of paper with the name of a hotel.

*/*/*/*/*

The flight from Dragonstone to Driftmark is short, even if the plane is even shorter.  Brienne winces as she disembarks and stretches her cramped muscles before she tugs on her backpack, pulls the hotel address out of the pocket of her jeans, and strides towards the terminal, looking for a cab.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne checks in then positions herself in a chair where she can see the front doors of the hotel, and waits.

When the group of people—twenty or more in all—sweep in, talking and laughing, covered in dust and sweat, she glances at them then away before her gaze flies back again.

There, in the middle of the crowd, with chestnut brown hair and an equally dark beard, is Jaime.

His eyes meet hers and his step slows, his smile fading.

His eyes never leave hers as he says something to the people immediately beside him, who give her curious looks as they clap him on the shoulder and leave him alone.

Brienne watches as he gives her a rueful shrug then strolls towards her, scratching at his bearded cheek…with his _right_ hand.

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Sorry that this chapter ended up being ready a little later than planned, but...I’VE FINISHED MY REAL-LIFE NOVEL THAT’S BEEN THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE FOR THE LAST TOO MANY YEARS!!! Okay, there are still at least three more rounds of edits to do, but those are now for grammar, punctuation, spelling, blatant plot holes, inconsistent character descriptions, etc., but not major rewrites. *bursts into happy sobs* It’s not ready for pre-order yet, but tentative release date: December 1. *happy sobs turn hysterical because that’s a terrifying thought*
> 
> *cough* ahem *cough*
> 
> Sorry; just had to share. Now, on with the show.... ;D

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime’s heart sinks as he strolls towards Brienne, even as it soars at seeing her again.  He’s missed her even more than he realized, or even feels like he should admit, given how complicated everything is.

He scratches his cheek and hopes he looks more calm than he feels.

Brienne’s eyes widen then narrow, her mouth setting into angry lines, and his heart sinks further even as he delights in watching her expressive face while he realizes he’s scratching his cheek with his _right_ hand.

_Fuck._

He stops in front of her and says, “Fuck.  This isn’t how I planned on telling you.”

Her eyes narrow even further.  “Not here,” she growls.

He glances round the hotel lobby and nods.  “Good point.” 

He turns and leads her to the elevators.  They don’t speak another word until they’re alone in his hotel room.

“How did you find me?” he asks.

Brienne rolls her eyes so hard he’s worried she’s hurt herself.

“I run a fucking detective agency, _‘Davyd’_ —finding people is what I do.”

He grimaces.  “Right.  Okay, listen, about the hand—”

She abruptly lifts her own hand, palm out, and he closes his mouth with an audible snap.

“I was half-expecting that,” she says, “although the brace surprises me.”

He frowns.  “You were half-expecting—?  No, you were not!”

She rolls her eyes again, although not quite as violently as before, and gives an unladylike and highly skeptical-sounding snort.  “Oh, come on!  How likely is it that you would have the exact same disability?”  She shakes her head.  “But we’ll talk about that later, back in King’s Landing, when I’m free to yell at you.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as something relaxes inside him at this indication that there’s going to _be_ a ‘later’.  For a moment he’s puzzled, then Brienne looks significantly at the door and he realizes Brienne is deferring the yelling because she doesn’t know who may be listening.

He gives her an approving nod.  Never break character, he thinks, and says, “Fair enough.”

Brienne walks further into the small hotel room, looking everywhere except at him.  Jaime can almost hear her gathering her thoughts as she paces the room before she finally plants herself in front of him with her hands on her hips.

“Are we able to speak freely here?” she says.

He shrugs and motions to her to take a seat on one of the beds while he settles on the other one.  Brienne hesitates, then sits opposite him, their knees almost brushing.

He says, “We can speak freely enough.  Nobody else from the dig is on this floor and I don’t think anyone is suspicious of me.  Yet, at least.”

She scowls, then leans closer and lowers her voice anyway. “Tell me what’s going on,” she says, “and gods help you if you lie to me...”

He holds up his hands in surrender.  “I won’t.”  He leans closer as well, and begins to speak, keeping his own voice low.

“Tywin came to see me and, for lack of a better phrase, made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Fuck,” she groans.  “How illegal is it?”

“Surprisingly enough, nothing blatantly illegal at all.”

She stares, skepticism rolling off her in waves.

“Yet, at least.  The bargain I struck with Tywin was that I would be his eyes and ears but he would need to find somebody else to pull off the job.”  He shrugs.  “I know he’s thinking he’ll be able to persuade me when the time comes, but I’d planned on removing his leverage over me as quickly as possible after I returned to King’s Landing.”

“What leverage?”

“My secrets,” Jaime says and raises his right hand with a rueful grimace.

Her eyes narrow and her scowl deepens.  “What are you doing here, J...Davyd?  And why couldn’t you just tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Jaime sighs and wonders if Brienne would let him touch her, to reassure her.  He studies her eyes and thinks she’s more likely to break it off—for real, this time—than suffer his touch in this moment.

“Tywin...Tywin can be very... _persuasive_ , when he needs to be,” he says.  “He has many contacts in this world, and he’s not afraid to use them to get what he wants.”

“He threatened you.”

“In a manner of speaking.  More importantly, however:  he threatened _you_ , and the others.”  He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces at the grit that coats it.  “Still, so far, it’s been innocuous enough.”

A muscle jumps in Brienne’s jaw.  “If you don’t start talking, I swear to all the gods—”

Jaime chuckles at that and says, “Aurane Waters, along with Jorah Mormont, is the mastermind behind this dig.  Two years ago, Aurane became the only person to have discovered what could possibly be the fossilized remnants of dragon eggs, here on Driftmark.”

Brienne’s expression doesn’t change as she watches him.  “Dragon eggs,” she says, her voice flat.

“The dig was funded by the University of Dragonstone and the eggs were promptly taken by the university and have—allegedly—disappeared.  There’s certainly no record of them in the university archives, and the pictures that exist are ambiguous, to say the least.”

She raises an eyebrow and he gives a rueful shrug.  “Have to do the research, you know.  Anyway, the pictures show what might be broken shells...or they might simply be rocks with interesting shapes, a random pattern that happens to match the scaled appearance described in the historical record, all melded together over time.  Regardless:  besides the fact that artifact is missing, those eggs were broken.”

Brienne’s eyebrow goes higher, realization dawning on her face, and he gives her an approving smile.

“Aurane, now with Jorah footing the bill—those crackpot books of his sell in the millions, apparently—is back, and he and his team are hoping to find another nest, this time with the eggs intact.”

Brienne’s eyebrow slowly lowers as she digests the information.  “And you’re here to steal the eggs as soon as they’re discovered?”

He shakes his head.  “I’m here to vouch for the authenticity of the discovery, if there is one.  Someone else will need to take it to the next level.”

“...what?”

“Tywin’s client has… _commissioned_ him to acquire whatever eggs might be discovered on this dig, but only if they can be proven to be an authentic find.  It’s not like dragon eggs—fake ones—are uncommon.  Tobho Mott is renowned for his work and has been known to make eggs that match the few descriptions that exist in the historical record.  The client doesn’t want a pretty bauble; they want the real things, and who can blame them?  Mott’s replica eggs are worth a fortune; _real_ dragon eggs—real, _intact_ dragon eggs—would be...”  He blows out a breath and shakes his head.

“Priceless,” Brienne whispers.

“ _Beyond_ priceless.  If intact eggs are found and Tywin can... _acquire_ them for his client, well, he’ll either be able to retire—if he were the type to retire—or he’ll be a dead man walking, along with everyone else who can tie him back to his client.”

Brienne sits and digests everything he’s told her in silence, and he admires her eyes as he waits for her mind to finish working behind them.

“You’re here _only_ to observe?” she finally says.

“That was the deal I made.  Infiltrate the dig team, document the work as much as possible, and if anything is found, I’ll be the one who will assure the client whether the find is authentic or not.”

“And if you say it is and the eggs turn out to be fakes?”

Jaime’s smile is thin.  “Or if I say it’s not, and the eggs turn out to be authentic?  Either way, Tywin isn’t the only one who will need to keep watching over his shoulder once all is said and done.”

Brienne blinks her beautiful albeit skeptical eyes and says, “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Jaime shrugs.  “You’re a detective; I’m sure you could figure it out...or you can stay and keep an eye on me.  We could use the help at the site, and I know I could use the help scoping things out in the middle of the night.  I’m leaving again at two, if you want to tag along.”

Brienne rolls her eyes and gets to her feet.  “As if you had any hope of slipping away from me now.”

Jaime trails after her as she stomps to the door.  “I should probably tell you to go home.  I’m not joking about the fact this could end up being incredibly dangerous for anyone involved in this job.”

She turns and looks at him.  “So why aren’t you?”

He shrugs and gives her a rueful smile.  “I’ve missed you.”

She snorts.  “Don’t try to butter me up,” she growls, “I’m still incredibly pissed with you; this just isn’t the time or the place to deal with it all.”

He gives her his best contrite look.  “You didn’t miss me?”

“No,” she snaps, then grabs the lapels of his shirt, yanks him towards her, and smashes her mouth against his.

The kiss is angry, almost brutal in its intensity, and over far too quickly, as Brienne sidesteps when he tries to place his hands on her hips.

She glares, her hands still fisted in the lapels of his shirt.  She gives him a little shake.  “I’ll be here by two,” she growls, then opens the door and is gone.

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Four

***/*/*/*/***

Brienne arrives at Jaime’s door at five minutes to two, and Jaime quickly suppresses a smile as he takes in her black jeans, black t-shirt, and her even blacker scowl.  He hands her a black, woollen cap to hide her straw-coloured hair, and wishes they could forget about the night’s scouting expedition so he could attempt to coax—pleasurably, he hopes—some forgiveness out of the stubborn wench.

But he’s on a job, and there’s a time and a place for everything.

Still, he thinks, that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate those snug fitting jeans.

He leads her out the service door of the hotel towards a car, half-hidden in the far corner of the hotel parking lot.

“What are we looking for?” Brienne asks as he drives to the dig site.

“Evidence that the dig site has been disturbed.”

“Disturbed how?”

Jaime shrugs.  “Each day’s dig areas are staked out the evening before, prior to us leaving the site.  If those staked out areas have been moved, that might be cause for suspicion, but we’re mainly scouting to see if it looks like the ground has been disturbed in some way.  You know, if it looks like it’s been recently dug up and repacked down or something similar.”

Brienne frowns as she ponders his words, then says, “Because...somebody might have planted something?”

Jaime nods.  “It’s incredibly difficult to fake finding something on a dig like this.  Besides the sheer number of people who are around to notice if you’re, I don’t know, dropping something into an open hole, if the artifact is found in almost rock-like dirt and needs to be dug out...” He grimaces and shrugs.

“That’s very difficult to fake, I assume.”

“It would take time, that’s for certain, not to mention long-term planning.  Having the right kind of soil would definitely help to make it seem authentic.  Which this site does.”

Brienne sits in thoughtful silence as Jaime drives, then she says, “How do you _know_ all this?”

Jaime flashes her a grin.  “I have, as you know, lived a very eventful life.  This isn’t my first dig, and I’ve participated for the same reasons.  I’m not as bright as Tyrion, who loves the lore and the history, but for Tywin’s purposes, I’m far more forgettable when all is said and done.”

Brienne stares.  “Forgettable?  You?  You’re one of the most, if not _the_ most, handsome men I’ve ever seen!”

He glances at her from the corners of his eyes and smiles.  “Thank you.  In the end, though, I’m just another pretty face, easily forgotten and just as easily altered, if need be.”

Brienne frowns at him in the dim light of the dashboard and says, “Change the hair colour; grow a beard?”

He shrugs.  “Among other things.  The bottom line is, I can more easily disappear.  Tyrion...well, Tyrion can change his hair colour and grow or shave a beard as well, of course, but he cannot hide the fact he is a little person, and that is an identifying characteristic that haunts him from job to job.”  He grimaces as he lifts his right hand.  “Of course, I, too, now have a characteristic that cannot be hidden quite so easily.”

“Can you use your hand at all?”

“A bit.  I can flex my fingers, but the finer motor functions are not nearly as fine as they used to be.”

“What happened?”

Jaime grimaces and looks out the window.  “A job in Essos didn’t go as planned.  I was caught, although not quite red-handed.  I was kept as a ‘guest’ for several days, mainly because my... _host_...wished to discover who hired me.”  He lifts his hand again and turns it first one way then the other.  “This is simply a souvenir from that visit.”

There’s no sound in the car as Brienne digests this information.

“Is that when you decided to take on the identity of Jaime Lannister?” she asks finally.

He chuckles.  “I don’t think Jaime Lannister was even a gleam in your eye at that point, Brienne, but his gold hand is definitely what made me sit up and take notice when he appeared on the scene.”  He pulls off the highway onto a dirt track, then pulls the car to a stop behind a rock outcropping.  “We’re on foot from here,” he says.

*/*/*/*/*

Their scouting expedition takes no more than an hour, even with only one set of night vision goggles to share between them.  Still, Brienne sees the site is relatively small with few if any obstacles in their way, and just as few opportunities to take cover if they’re discovered.

Jaime carefully inspects each demarcated square that outlines an area to be excavated the next day.  He crouches down and peers closely at the topsoil before moving on to the next square.  Once he’s surveyed each square, he leads her back to the car, where he lifts up the back seat cushion and removes a drone that he flies over the site to take pictures.

Brienne waits until the drone has been returned to its hiding spot and they’re safely back in the car before she says, “Pretty high tech.”

He shrugs as he starts driving back to town.  “I’ve learned there are many ways to gather information.”

She hums agreement then says, “Considering any discoveries are potentially worth a fortune, why aren’t there any cameras on the site?  Alarms on the perimeter?  You’re throwing a lot of expensive equipment at this job; why aren’t Aurane and Jorah throwing just as much expensive equipment at it to keep the site secure?”

“They are.”

Brienne sighs.  “You just disabled it.”

“Let’s just say I’ve made some modifications to it.  Or, rather, Tywin has given me the tools to modify it.”

Silence falls once more until Brienne says, almost to herself, “Who the fuck are you?”

Jaime quirks a half-smile and says, “I just happen to be a man with a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career.  Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.”

Brienne turns and stares.  “ _What_?”

He gives her a sly grin and shrugs.  “ _Taken_?  Liam Neesyn?  2009?  No?”

“Oh for—” She rolls her eyes and Jaime laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

Morning comes early and Brienne is heavy-eyed and yawning as she joins Jaime and the others in the restaurant for breakfast.  Jaime introduces her to his teammates simply as his friend, Brienne, who has decided to join him on his holiday.  Brienne watches as Amerie’s expression changes from shock to disbelief to disappointment and for one heart-stopping moment, Brienne wonders just what the relationship is between Jaime and the younger woman.  Then Jaime casually leans closer, pressing his shoulder against hers, and she relaxes.

Besides, she’ll get the truth out of him once they’re back in King’s Landing whether he likes it or not.

She has no time to think too much about the question because Jorah Mormont and Aurane Waters arrive in the restaurant and work their way from table to table, greeting their team members.

“Morning,” Aurane says as he and Jorah finally arrive at their table.  “The bus is here, and—”  He stops when he catches sight of Brienne.  Her eyes widen as his jaw drops and he says, “Are...are you _Brienne Tarth_?”

Brienne’s stomach plummets to her shoes and she feels a flush rising in her cheeks.  She glances at Jaime and her stomach falls even further when she sees the resigned look in his eyes.

She turns back to Aurane with a determined smile.  “Yes.  Yes, I am,” she says and holds out her hand.  “I’m sorry; have we met?”

Aurane slowly reaches out and shakes her hand.  “Your reputation precedes you.”  He turns to Jaime and says, “And that must make you...?”

Jaime pulls a rueful face.  “Jaime Lannister.  Yes.”

Their companions gasp and Jaime turns to them with a self-deprecating smile.  “I just wanted a holiday,” he says plaintively.

Jorah’s expression is skeptical.  “A holiday.  Grubbing in the dirt, looking for dragon eggs?”

“You have to admit, it’s different.”

Jorah glares.  “We need to talk.”

*/*/*/*/*

It takes all of Jaime’s skill to fast talk their way out of being thrown out of the hotel—or at least off the dig—that very minute.  In the end, though, both Aurane and Jorah seem to believe his story that he, the Great Detective Jaime Lannister, has always been interested in these kinds of excursions and he set out to join the dig simply as a holiday treat.

“Although,” Jaime says with a charming smile, “it’s not unlike being a private investigator, is it?”

The other men frown at him.

He spreads his arms and shrugs.  “You find and follow clues to identify the most likely place to dig.  If you’re good at what you do, you’ll find the truth, even if it’s not the truth you initially expected, or wanted.”

Jorah and Aurane both seem to relax at that, and Brienne thanks her lucky stars that the man who calls himself Jaime Lannister is on her side.  Or seems to be.

Jorah glances at his watch.  “We need to get to the site,” he says.  “We don’t have much time left to work on the site, so we should stop wasting it.”

“I agree,” Jaime says and leads the way to the door.

“Uh, Dav...I mean, Jaime,” Aurane says, and Jaime turns, raising an eyebrow.  “The, uh, the gold hand thing?”

Jaime lifts his right hand and shrugs.  “It’s just another brace, really, only a bit more... _impressive_.  At least, I like to think so.”

“Why haven’t you ever told anyone you still have a hand?” Jorah asks, his eyes once again narrowed with suspicion.

Jaime’s eyebrow rises even higher as he opens the door and invites them to walk through.  “No one’s ever asked.”

*/*/*/*/*

The team quickly adjusts to the revelation of Jaime’s true identity— he struggles not to laugh at the irony of it all—and he and Brienne easily slip into a routine:  the day is spent at the dig site; the evening with their teammates; a few hours of sleep then they slip back to the dig site to do some scouting, before returning to the hotel for a few more hours of sleep.

In separate beds, to Jaime’s disappointment.

Not that a hotel room on Driftmark fits into Jaime’s plans for the seduction of Brienne Tarth...but he’s always been quick to adapt to changing circumstances.

Unfortunately, Brienne hasn’t even tried to kiss him since her first night on the island, and their schedule doesn’t exactly allow him much opportunity to work his way back into her good graces.  As they slip out of his hotel room at two in the morning, Jaime comforts himself with the thought that at least there’s only another week or so to go before the dig shuts down, and the first thing he’ll do when they get back to King’s Landing is throw himself on her mercy.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne, to her own surprise, is actually enjoying her time on Driftmark.  It at least beats sitting in a car, watching somebody to determine if they’re committing insurance fraud.  It _definitely_ beats following cheating spouses around.  She still has nightmares about those days before she hit on the idea of inventing a boss with an already established reputation.

Even if she always did have to rely on Bronna to sell any lies that were necessary.

Anyway, carefully digging around in the dirt all day, then scouting the site again at night, is definitely different.  She also admits that she’s enjoying it more than she might have otherwise because Jaime is with her, even if he’s made no attempt to kiss or even touch her since her first night on the island.

Not that there’s much time, really, between the dig site, the team, and the scouting missions.  And not that she really wants him to; she’s still pissed with him, and she’s not sure if she believes his only purpose here is to vouch for the authenticity of whatever is found.

Still, she thinks as they drive out to the dig site, it would be nice if he at least _tried_.

*/*/*/*/*

They are in complete accord on one thing:  Aurane Waters and Jorah Mormont both seem a bit _too_ pleased with having the Great Detective Jaime Lannister working on their dig.

*/*/*/*/*

Even without any eggs yet found, Jorah proclaims the dig a success since they have found several bones that have not been immediately identified.

“Dragons,” he insists, slurring, waving his arms, the Northern whiskey in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim, “mark my words.  Or giants.  Mayhaps the remains of one of the Children of the Forest, or one of the myriad other magical creatures that once roamed our great land.”

Brienne leans close to Jaime and murmurs in his ear, “Is he always like this?”

“Always,” Jaime says and turns to give her a warm smile.  He’s caught by the beauty of her eyes in the moonlight, and Jorah’s pontificating fades into the background, merging with the waves lapping against the _Dothraki Khaleesi_ ’s hull and the creaking of its moorings.  Brienne blinks at him, frowning.

“What?” she demands, keeping her voice low.

“Would you break my ribs if I were to kiss you right now?”

Her eyes widen and even in the dim light, he can see the colour rush into her cheeks.  She lifts her chin and gives him a haughty stare.  “And if I say yes, I would?”

His smile widens.  “Well, I’ve always loved living dangerously,” he murmurs.  His gaze drops to her far-too-tempting mouth, and he leans in.  Before his mouth does more than brush hers, however, there’s a loud burst of laughter behind him.  He grimaces, straightens, and meets her eyes.  “Although I prefer living dangerously without an audience.”

Disappointment but also something that seems to be relief flashes on her face.  He frowns, but before he can pursue things further, they’re pounced upon by Hoster and his sister Bethany, who drag them back to the rest of the group.

*/*/*/*/*

The last day of the dig finds them working diligently with their team.  They’re all feeling a bit deflated that this is the last day and they’ll be going their separate ways in the morning.  Even Brienne feels regret that this little adventure is coming to an end.  She likes their teammates and all the other kids who are working on the dig.  Aurane and Jorah puzzle her and, given Jaime’s mission, she’s not certain she trusts them, either.  Or mayhaps it’s Jaime she shouldn’t trust.

She glances at him now.  He’s frowning in concentration as he gently uses a trowel to scrape away each layer of dirt.  His hair and beard are the same chestnut brown they were when she arrived.  He’s tanned beneath the island’s sun, making his green eyes even greener, and there’s something rather endearing about his absolute focus on the job at hand.

He must feel her gaze on him because he glances up to meet her eyes.  After a long, suspended moment, his frown turns to a half-smile and she finds herself smiling back.

“Hey!”  Lew suddenly yelps.  “Look at this!”

They look to see what’s gotten the young man so excited.

He gives them a grin, eyes shining, then points towards where he’s been carefully excavating.

There, they see what looks like the curved edge of something, something with a surface that looks like scales.

Brienne’s eyes widen and she leans closer.  “Is that—?”

“An egg,” Bethany breathes.

*/*/*/*/*

The discovery makes headlines around the world, and for the next few days, Aurane and Jorah thrust Jaime into the media spotlight at every opportunity to vouch for the authenticity of the find.

Jaime plays his part and watches them with thoughtful eyes.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime calls Tywin once he’s no longer needed to feed the media frenzy, and only after he and Brienne return to King’s Landing, when he knows he has the necessary privacy for this conversation.

“They’re genuine?” Tywin says.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at what seems to be genuine surprise in Tywin’s voice.  Tywin is seldom genuinely surprised.

“They appear to be, yes,” Jaime says, carefully choosing his words.  “I found no evidence of the site being disturbed prior to us discovering the nest.”

“You sound...suspicious.”

“You know as well as I do that people are clever, especially when there’s large amounts of money involved.  However, this has all the appearance of an authentic discovery.  Nothing suspicious happened while I was present on the dig, and I surveyed the site every night and morning.  If the eggs were planted, well, then whoever planted them went to great lengths to ensure there would be little doubt as to the legitimacy of the find.”

Tywin hums thoughtfully.

Jaime says, “Regardless, you would do well to remind your client to maintain a healthy skepticism when you complete the delivery.”

“They’re your client, too, ‘Jaime’.”

“I fulfilled my side of our bargain,” Jaime says.  “The Great Detective Jaime Lannister has now famously been present at the discovery of the century and has publically vouched for the fact there was nothing suspicious occurring under his watch.  That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Hm.  A little less publicity would have suited my purposes better...but I doubt they would have suited yours.  The more well-known you are, the more difficult it will be for the Great Detective Jaime Lannister to once again...hmm... _retire_ from public life.”

“You know me too well.”

“Just as you know me too well.”  Tywin is silent, and Jaime imagines the look on the older man’s face as he rapidly rifles through all of his options.  “Yes,” Tywin finally says, “you have more than fulfilled your side of the bargain, considering you’ve also provided me with some cover if the find turns out to be not quite as claimed.”

“An unfortunate side effect.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.  Good-bye, ‘Jaime’, until we meet again.”

*/*/*/*/*


	6. Epilogue

***/*/*/*/***

The media frenzy follows Jaime and Brienne back to King’s Landing to a small extent.  Jaime spends the first few days after their return dealing with reporters with great charm while deflecting attention back to Lew and Aurane and Jorah.  Brienne watches from the sidelines and shakes her head even as she admires his skill in dancing around the reporters’ questions.

*/*/*/*/*

Bronna smacks Jaime’s shoulder— _hard_ —when he walks into the office for the first time since his disappearance, three days after their return from Driftmark. 

Sam settles for a scowl then says, “The House of Undying is going absolutely crazy.”

It takes Brienne a moment to remember the website devoted to the belief magic is real and destined to return; the one Yna frequented before she disappeared, along with Maggy and Mirri and several supposedly magical artifacts.

Jaime’s smile is wide.  “I thought they would.  Anything that looks like a lead?”

“Well, Godswife and Maegi started posting again after weeks of being silent.  They, along with LostWolfGirl and OneEyedMaegi, are in raptures, swearing that the eggs are just another sign that Bran the Sleeper is on the verge of waking.  Another user, Explorah, keeps talking about how all they need now is the blood of the dragon in order to get the eggs to hatch.”

Brienne’s eyebrows rise.  “What does that mean?”

Bronna says, “As far as we—well, Sam—can tell, it goes back to the legends from the Age of Magic about the Targaryen kings and queens.  There are sources that claim they were dragonriders and the blood of dragons flowed through their veins.”

“There are no more true Targaryens,” Jaime says with a frown.  “They had already died out by the time the first Lannister King and his Queen took the Iron Throne.  Aerys Targaryen took the name as a conceit, nothing more.”

Sam nods, and says, “True enough, according to the accepted historical sources.  The people who post on the House of the Undying think those sources are either lying or just wrong.  To them, finding the eggs proves it’s only a matter of time before a true descendant of the Targaryens is also discovered.”

“And what do they plan to do if one is found?” Brienne asks, her voice sharp.

Sam spreads his hands in a shrug.  “They don’t think they’ll need to do anything because everything is fated.  The Targaryens will eventually come into contact with the eggs; it’s simply a matter of time.”

*/*/*/*/*

“I’m not sure I like the idea of magic returning to the world,” Brienne says to Jaime that evening after he lets her into his apartment.

He shrugs.  “Depends on what kind of magic you’re talking about,” he says and leads her to the living room.

She stops in her tracks, looking around her with surprise and not a little suspicion.  The lights are dimmed, music is soft in the background, and there’s a fire in the fireplace, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.

She turns to him and, despite herself, her lingering distrust and anger caused by his deception softens beneath the nervously hopeful expression in his eyes.

“Mr. Lannister,” she says, her voice stern, “you’re trying to seduce me...aren’t you?”

She’s rewarded with a slow, appreciative grin.

“ _The Graduate_ , 1967.  Nice.”  He takes her hand and leans closer.  “Would I be successful?”

Brienne wavers for a long moment, struggling against her yearning to throw her suspicions over her shoulder and throw herself into his arms, secrets bedamned.  She lifts her chin and shakes her head.  “Not tonight, I don’t think.”

His smile is tender albeit rueful as he squeezes her hand and brushes his thumb against her knuckles.  “I didn’t think so.  Come and sit by the fire anyway.  We can share some wine while I tell you a story.”

*/*/*/*/*

They sit, limned by the glow of the flames, and Jaime talks.

He tells her of a man and a woman, masters of their craft, who loved their work and each other but unable to have children of their own.  He talks about the woman, Joanna, who found three children in dire situations on three separate occasions, and brought them home as if she were bringing home stray kittens.  He recalls Joanna’s warmth, Tywin’s coldness, of being trained by both of them from a very young age in the ‘family business’.  He tells her of Joanna’s death, his voice tight with grief, and how it changed everything.

He moves on to talk about meeting Cersei for the first time, when they each about ten, and how he sometimes thinks he fell in love with her, his new ‘sister’, at that moment.  He describes Cersei’s vulnerability, her wild recklessness, her skill at their craft, and her ability to keep secrets, even if she is fundamentally incapable of following orders or sticking to a plan that isn’t hers.  He loved her because she was all of those things, and later he loved her _despite_ all of those things.  He tells her of a child born when they were teenagers, a son; of Tywin’s decision which he’s never truly forgiven even if he understands it.  He tells her of Cersei’s revelation the day Sansa ran from her wedding and Tywin’s confirmation of it.

He sips his wine then begins to speak about Tyrion, as a boy and as a man, and about a job in Essos that went... _badly_. He takes off his brace and shows her the scars encircling his wrist, and speaks only briefly about what they did to him, thankfully only minutes before Tyrion arrived to extricate him.  He glosses over the horror of it and skims over the pain, and the surgeries, and focuses instead on the grim task of regaining what control he could of his hand and learning to function with his left one.

“And then one day,” he says, “about a year after it happened, I picked up a paper and read a story about a mysterious. reclusive detective named Jaime Lannister, who sported a gold prosthetic hand.”

Brienne sips her wine as she listens to him, her eyes wide and guileless, bottomless pools of blue in the dim light of the now low-burning fire.

“How did you know he wasn’t real?” she asks.

“I didn’t, at first.  But he interested me; we had suffered similar injuries although I, at least, managed to salvage my actual hand.  So I paid special attention to any stories I found about him.  Then I noticed he never seemed to be seen by anyone but his employees, and he left no trail behind him as he moved through the world.”  He shrugs.  “It didn’t take much more digging to determine that, in all likelihood, the man didn’t truly exist.”

“Still, you took a big risk, taking on his identity the way—and when—you did.”

He gives her a slow, wicked grin.  “I don’t know if you noticed, but risk is a normal part of my job.”  He tilts his head in acknowledgement.  “Yours, too.”  He sips his own wine and says, “It was pretty risky to create an employer with such a high profile and then leverage him into a successful business.  You could have been caught out long before I showed up on the scene.”

He watches with interest as she flushes.  “I was desperate,” she mutters, scowling furiously at her wine glass, “and failure was not an option.”

“Ah,” Jaime murmurs, setting his wine glass down and edging closer, “two movie references in one night.  I’m impressed.”

She frowns then her eyes widen as he removes her wine glass from her hand and sets it beside his.

“T-t-two?” she manages as he gently puts his arms around her.

“ _R’hllor 13_?  1995?  Everyone knows that catch-phrase.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t resist as he shifts until he’s flat on his back on the floor and she’s sprawled on top of him.

“You’re still not seducing me tonight,” she says, even as she allows him to tug her head down so he can press a soft kiss against her mouth.

“I know,” he says, threading his fingers in her hair, “but I’ve missed you.”

She blinks and for a moment, he wonders if he’s literally going to drown in the sheer beauty of her eyes.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she mumbles, and kisses him. 

There’s no more talking for a very long time.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne arrives the next morning to find Jaime in the reception area, newspaper in hand as he reads one of the stories to Bronna and Sam.

“...this is the sixth body found in the Dreadfort since the beginning of the year.  The whereabouts of Lady Donella Hornwood-Bolton is still unknown.” 

He lowers the paper and gives Brienne a smile that warms her to her toes. 

“Good morning,” he says.  “As you can see, I’m just sharing the latest news out of the Dreadfort.  Mayhaps we should volunteer our services to their City Watch?”

Sam snorts.  “The Boltons don’t appreciate outsiders looking into their business.  You’re more likely to be run out of town than welcomed with open arms.”

Bronna’s phone lets out a soft ping and she glances at it.  She reads the message and gasps.

The other three look at her, suddenly tense.

“Breaking news,” she says.  “Joffrey Baratheon, the Crown Prince of Rock, has been seen about town with Margaery Tyrell, the granddaughter of the second richest woman in the world.”  She glares at her phone.  “How that fucking asshole keeps getting women to go out with him is a sure sign magic is returning to the world!”

Brienne shoots a quick glance at Jaime, who’s laughing just as much as Sam and Bronna.  He gives her a wink and a shrug as Bronna’s phone pings again.

This time her gasp is even louder.

“What?” Sam asks with a grin.  “Has Joffrey scared this one off already?”

Bronna gives him a distracted smile and says, “The dragon eggs are gone!”

*/*/*/*/*

The story is told on WNN with breathlessly urgent disbelief, and Brienne divides her time between watching the TV and watching Jaime’s face.

“Tywin moves fast,” she growls once it becomes apparent WNN is beginning to cycle through their story points again.  She mutes the TV and turns her glower on Jaime.

The glower seems to have no impact as Jaime shrugs and pulls out his phone.  “Easier to get them now than when they’re locked up in some university’s lab.”

“Jaime!”

“Hush, sweetling,” he purrs as he puts his phone to his ear, “and trust me.”  He half-turns away as his call is answered.  “Tyrion?  It’s confirmed; they’re on the move.  You want to connect with Sam; show him how he can access the data, too?  Thanks; I owe you another one.  See you tonight.”

Jaime disconnects, takes in their disbelieving and suspicious faces, and gives them a beatific smile.  He says, “During our last few nights on Driftmark, I planted several tiny GPS bugs on our remarkable find.”

“Where the _fuck_ —?” Brienne sputters.

“Did I plant them?  That took some thought, but I’m sure they’ll survive whatever journey they’re going on, and remain undetected.”

“No!  Where did you get the bugs?  We weren’t exactly in a big city and you never left my sight!”

Jaime raises an eyebrow and gives her a wicked smirk.  “Let’s not give the children the wrong impression of our time away,” he purrs and laughs as she flushes a dark red.  He lifts up his phone and says, “I have contacts.  Suffice to say, we’re going to be able track where those eggs end up, and when we do, we’ll hopefully find out who’s stealing all of these magical artifacts once and for all.”

#####

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**   Real Life is taking over right now (work wise; all good—just really, REALLY busy), but I hope to have Episode 9 started within two weeks.  I also have to do some plotting, since I’m now debating whether what I’d originally planned for Ep. 9 will actually work OR if it should be combined with a later episode…which means I need a new Ep. 9.  *eyes ‘broadcast schedule’ and scowls*


End file.
